You all! Guess what came in the mail, today?
If you guessed my National Poetry Month poster, you guessed right! Creepy, but spot-on!
And now, a poem or something.
We Hatchlings
The pungent American
toad excretes his own
flavor of war, writhes
between two slimed hands;
But hold a ring-necked
snake, for the first time-
He is barely inches
but his scales are still
smooth to touch, to stroke.
He bit my pointer finger
with sliver fangs to fragile
to pierce young skin, too
new to do more than tell
me to fuck right off, then
he slid through the cracks
like a morning dream.
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